BlogFestivus 2012

Dancer’s own role was simple. He watched ESS headquarters through binoculars to make sure no one came or went who was not part of the Resistance. But after two hours of watching, Dancer’s eyes were glazing over. Who knew a revolution could be so boring?

Within three days of the posting of the edicts, all those who were rebellious, contrary and those who simply loved gum too much had been dealt with by the ESS. All but one.

Blitzen loved gum. He loved the taste and the texture. He even loved how he could form it into shapes like silly putty or stick it to things to annoy others. So it was that on the afternoon of the third day, Blitzen made a conscious choice and walked down main street chewing the biggest wad of gum he could fit in his mouth.

Donner looked himself over in the mirror, made miniscule adjustments to his clothing and brushed invisible specks of imperfection from his fur. He glanced at the clock and saw it was precisely one o’clock. Satisfied, he grabbed his walking cane and headed out for his daily stroll.

He loved these walks as much for the routine as for the exercise. But today, as soon as his walk took him to the main street, Donner knew something non-routine was going on.

Cupid was engrossed, as she always was when working on her pet project. She was oblivious to everything but her laptop with its open windows of notes, spreadsheets and browser tabs.

So it was that Cupid did not notice the front door open. It was only when her laptop snapped closed that she realized that an elf sat across from her. He wore drab green overalls with a small pin on the lapel.

If it was sleazy or deviant at The Pole, it was at Vixen’s, which is why no elf was ever seen there. (Elfs are notorious prudes.) Dancer had to admit it was the perfect place to meet.

As he opened the door, a mélange of cigarette and marijuana smoke, alcohol and sweat enveloped him. He was barely inside when he was hit in the face with a ping-pong ball from one of the stages. It stuck to his fur and he quickly brushed it off.

Vixen’s was packed and the din from the music and crowd was deafening. Dancer spied Prancer in a corner booth and worked his way over.

Technically, Dancer didn’t so much know a guy as know a guy who knew a guy.

Prancer scowled as he listened to Dancer’s story. They were in Rudy’s and the noisy, well-oiled crowd helped drown out their conversation.

“I knew that story in The Times was bullshit,” Prancer said. “‘Dasher Dead After Freak Accident’ my ass.” He guzzled his Stout and signaled for another. “Now we have to break in some noob to replace him.”

“Yes, yes,” Dancer said impatiently. “What about the bigger picture? If they could do this to Dasher, they could do it to any of us.”

Dasher’s brother, Dancer, wandered the compound trying to work off the nervous energy that always hit him in the weeks before C-Day. Passing by Dasher’s house, he saw a broken window covered with plastic taped over the frame, and decided to see what happened. As soon as Mandy answered the door, he knew something was very wrong.

She told him how Dasher had been killed just as he decided to leave the Pole. “We should have known that our homes were bugged. That asshole,” Mandy said, pointing in the direction of Santa’s Mansion, “has always been a tyrant.”

You may remember that I participated in a writing challenge last December called BlogFestivus. The challenge was devised by the diabolical blogdramedy, who has concocted another challenge this year, BlogFestivus 2012.

The game this year is to write 243 words a day* for the nine days between December 11 and 19. Each day’s writing will include one of the nine reindeer: